


In the Woods Somewhere

by FelicityGS



Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Gen, N E WAY, binding tales, gods being gods, it's lokason, no, vali lokAson, wow why is the tag on ao3 fucking lokison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:16:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2898659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicityGS/pseuds/FelicityGS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is not frightened of any his children, but he has always known perhaps he should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Woods Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 of my 12 days of Yule gifts for this year.
> 
> Vague god-related UPG to dovetail Vali and Loki and some thoughts I've been having together for the wonderful [lokiwtf](http://lokiwtf.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, who has earned this yule gift and a thousand things more this year with all the ways they helped me with my huge ass life changes. 
> 
> for srs. thanks <3

There is a point, in the running, where the exhilaration leaves. It doesn’t trickle out of him; between one stride and the next, it simply  _vanishes_ , a fire blown out.

He knew what would happen; he always knows, but it did not change that for a few brief moments, fleeing that great hall and those angry gods that have forgotten what it is to  _change_ , the laughter and the  _hope_  were bright and sharp as the blade that guts a fish.

There’s a scream, sharper than even that, and when the silence settles again there is no joy. 

(Certainty, yes. Certainty,  _always_ —this needs to happen.)

The woods are dark and he is not frightened of them, but in that moment, they grow a little darker, a little angrier. 

He has lived this moment a thousand thousand times—front to back, back to front, and he knows what comes next: he finds a stream within the few steps after the scream, he changes to fish, is caught in his own design, and chained with the still warm entrails of his son whose death always would mean more than his life. That is the way of these things, this is what being a god  _is_.

But the stream is not there, and in the hollow left absent joy, dread blooms. 

This is not right. 

His steps slow, then falter as he finds the clearing that he was seeking—but there is no stream here, no swift running current to dive into. 

There is another scream, this one louder and shriller. At his feet fog twists, obscures the forest floor even as the dark grows thick,  _black_ , brings with it confusion and a limbo space not of his making, blurs that knife edge he runs as easy as breathing.

This is not his space, not anymore, and when he runs now, he stumbles, trips, is snagged by low tree limbs and brush.

(He must find the stream, else things will not  _end_ , will not  _change_ , and that was always the  _point_. It must  _burn_  in order to  _grow_.)

When he falls, he catches himself; looks up and freezes, because there is the gleam of eyes watching him in the ever-present treeline. It is not fear that makes him freeze, only caution, because he  _knows_  what ( _who_ ) it is that watches. He eases up careful, stays in a crouch. 

"You know why this must happen," he says evenly. 

Loki is not frightened of any his children, but he has always known perhaps he should be. 

The wolf ( _boy_ ) in the trees does not growl the way Fenrir would, does not hiss Jormungandr’s whispering secrets, does not smile Hela’s half-live smile, and Narfi is too shortly gone to laugh—but they all shiver along his bones in Vali’s silence, in the disinterest in dark green eyes. 

This has happened a thousand thousand times, and never once has Vali ever managed to change anything for all his efforts. 

(But it does not mean that he ever stopped trying, ever stopped roaming,  _learning_  from blood-soaked mountain gods of other lands.)

_Run_ , Vali advises with a gleam of teeth and rumble of laughter that twists through the fog, makes it hot as his breath misting the air.

Loki does. 

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted to my [faith blog](http://strepentsilences.tumblr.com/post/106413609053/in-the-woods-somewhere)


End file.
